He wanted to say no. He wanted to disobey Edward and go straight to the police, in part out of his own stubbornness, and in part because Edward frightened him with the way he spoke and clawed at his face and crooned acceptance. He had been caught up in something dangerous again. He wanted it to stop.

But his self-preservation existed. His desire to live was clocked in.

He was afraid of unexpected falsehoods, how his future actions might unwittingly betray whatever promises he made that night. The words he spoke were the most genuine he knew. "Let me help you." A whisper. He didn't know if the blood he felt on his face belonged to him or Edward. He raised his voice. "Please, let me help you."